Anticipating Midsummer

I

            Samwise Gamgee paused on the threshold to the guest house he’d shared with Frodo Baggins for the past several months, here in the gardens north of the hill that held the main city of Tol Eressëa.  The screen that served as a door to the room that held the study was open, and the hinged desktop was dropped to make room for Frodo’s work table that now sat down the center of the narrow chamber.  Frodo was bringing out items he intended to use and setting them carefully on the table—a pot of glue, two rolls of fine, strong string, four sheets of golden paper that he used as endpapers in books he was binding, a long strip of leather such as he used for the spines of books, a pot of black ink….

            Frodo had written, illustrated, and bound a picture book for the daughter of his friend Livwen’s sister Lordeth, but that had been quite some time ago.  He’d not been writing such a thing as a book in the last few weeks.  So, someone else must have wished his services in binding a book—but who?

            Frodo raised his own still bright gaze to meet that of the brother of his heart.  Ah, but good!  Sam, please watch for Mistress Rhysellë and help her as she lets you.  She has finished the tale she promised you.

            Ah, but yes!  Sam had asked her whether she was born on the island or came here later, and she’d promised to present him with a volume depicting how both she and later her husband had come to the Lonely Isle from Endorë many, many yeni past, how they came to love one another and marry, and how they’d had not one but two families in the period of their union.  Two sons they’d had in the first hundred Sunrounds of their marriage, and then two daughters in the last yen.  Their sons had moved to Aman proper long ago.  One lived in Alqualondë amongst the Teleri, and the other farmed land near the eastern shore, not far from Lórien where Lord Irmo had his dwelling.

            Sam set his gardening basket on the bench near the door, and headed west around the north side the hill toward the lands that held Mistress Rhysellë’s orchard and her family’s home. They met not far from the guest house.  She was carrying a wide, woven tray on which lay two bundles wrapped in waterproof cloth, a fold of blue cloth, and a bag of other items.

            “Here, Mistress Rhysellë,” Sam said, taking the tray from her and lifting it to his shoulder.  “”And how is the bairn today?”

            The elleth laughed as she slipped a bag from her shoulder to carry it in her arms.  “My granddaughter is not using her words, but is showing that she will most likely be gifted in osanwë.  For that I will blame your mellon.”

            “Not as it’s his fault,” Sam responded.  “He tells me that it’s difficult to speak aloud now as he’s changed so much.”

            She smiled thoughtfully.  “So it is.  The Becoming changes one so very much.  So Ir Eärendil has told us.  I do not know that he has spoken aloud in two ages of the Sun.  He, too, lost a good portion of his material nature once he arrived here and realized how changed his voyage had made him.  That a mortal could know the same changes is a wonder to him as it is to us.”

            Sam nodded as they approached the guest house.

            Frodo was standing behind the worktable.  Sam brought the tray and held it out to the Ringbearer so that Frodo could remove each item to the table.  He took the fabric first and unfolded it until it was merely doubled, then took up scissors and cut the length in half.  One half he moved to one side and straightened it. The other half he set on the other end of the table where he carefully smoothed its folds, making it even with the first length.

            Satisfied with his first task, Frodo straightened and stretched, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.  At last he reached for a flattened bag from which he extracted four measured rectangles of leather, thick but flexible.  He laid them carefully upon the two lengths of fabric, near where they would become the basis for the covers for the books to be assembled.  From his own stores he pulled finer leather that had been cut into strips, choosing one likely to serve to cover the spines of the books.

            The next step was to open the two bundles, one of which held the manuscript of the book written by Rhysellë, and the other a slightly larger stack of blank pages.  The former was laid upon one of the prepared covers on one side, the blank pages on the other side.  From a folder Frodo removed several sheets of the same paper on which illustrations had been drawn and colored.  The first, a portrait of Rhysellë herself, was laid as a frontispiece facing inward atop the manuscript.  In the middle he placed a portrait of her second daughter, Livwen.  Halfway between the frontispiece and Livwen’s picture he placed a picture of the sons of Rhysellë and her husband Talorë, one wearing a sailor’s cap matching that of his father save for the color, the other clad as one who toiled on the land.  In the center of the second half was placed a picture of Livwen and her older sister Lordeth, Lordeth carrying her daughter Estelieth in her arms, all looking out over the Sea.  On the bottom of the stack he placed a portrait of Talorë.  On top and below he placed blank pages.  He then took the golden endpapers that he folded to slightly more than the width of the blank sheets, cutting off the extra width so that they were mostly even with the blank pages.  Using a metal gauge he straightened the edges of the pages to square them, then drew a line downward a half an inch from the left side. 

            He then did the same with the second stack, using a second gauge to straighten the stacks and square the corners.  He then went quite still, set one hand on the first stack and the other on the second.  Sam had seen Frodo go still in this manner many times while living with him here within the guesthouse, as he focused his will upon the clay he worked into the shapes of birds or other figures.  His face went still, and the Light of his Being shone out from him, eventually focusing on his hands, and from there on the paper, shining up from the top pages and then further and further down until the whole of each stack was illuminated by the silver light.  The gardener noted that not every page in the second stack now shone—several at the bottom of the stack remained with no luminescence, and he wondered at that—briefly.  Then he realized that the second stack had more sheets of paper than the first, so some, at least, would not be needed for copying the text of the first.

            The light dimmed on the two stacks, then shone out again, descending once more from top to bottom, then a third time.  For the third time the light of the pages dimmed, and Frodo’s own light dimmed as well.  He remained still for a time, then reached out to lift the first few pages to show the first blank, then the picture of Rhysellë face down on the second, and the writing on the third and fourth.  The orchardist arose and approached the table, examining the exposed sheets.  In Sindarin she murmured, “But lo!  It is as I wrote it, the picture as you painted it!”

            Frodo smiled a soft smile.  Carefully he lifted the stack and removed the blank sheets from the bottom, leaving but one unmarked sheet below the portrait of Talorë the Sailor.  Again he straightened the stacks, now squaring them on the other side of the pages and laying the stacks slightly overhanging the edges of the intended covers.

            The auger used to pierce the pages was finer than the one used in Bag End, with a smoothly wrought handle at the top.  Here, too, Frodo’s form shone with the Light of his Being as he bored through the stack, far more swiftly and smoothly than he had ever done back in the Shire.  He made a second piercing below the first along the line he’d drawn, then simply drew the auger down the line, and new bore-holes appeared at regular distances along the line.  He did the same with the copy, and again a line of evenly spaced holes appeared down the length of the stacked pages.

            He brought out two spindles and placed the spools of binding twine upon them, each sitting atop a silver bead that would allow the spools to easily turn as needed.  He threaded the string through wide-eyed needles and carefully worked the points into the top holes of the stack.  Sam watched amazed as the needles worked themselves through the bored holes and then up the back of the spine to bind the book securely, following a pattern that would hold the pages together evenly and yet allow them to turn independently.  When they reached the bottom of the pages, they worked back through the holes with a new pattern to reinforce the binding, doubling the strength of the spine.  When they again reached the top of the pages Frodo tied off the ends, and clipped them with fine scissors.

            He brought out a pot of glue and used it to stiffen the strings where they crossed and recrossed at the intended spine, and allowed them to dry.

            Now he brought out the golden endpapers and set one at the bottom of each stack and one at the top.  He used a wide brush to cover the back side of the top one on the original before laying it squarely on the top empty page, pressing it evenly with a second gauge until it was properly adhered.  Automatically the other endpapers were affixed to the blank pages at the front and back of the books.

            So often had Sam watched Bilbo and Frodo Baggins painstakingly do this back when Frodo was yet a tween and later as an adult.  Many times it was needful to remove the blank pages and do it again.  But now all went together as if by magic! 

            Now it was time to prepare the binding.  Frodo set the bound pages atop the first piece of leather intended for the back of the book and placed the front piece atop the stack.  He measured the finer leather for the spine against the gap, marked it to the proper width, and used a fine cutter and a metal gauge to make it fit.  A second piece fell free of the material, the proper size for the copy.  Removing the pages, he set the binding leathers atop the blue fabric, and carefully aligned them so that the left and top sides had the proper overlap.  He used a gauge to make the same overlap at the bottom and finally the right side, and cut the fabric appropriately.  He used a smaller gauge to cut notches at the corners so that the fabric would not be too bulky when folded over, and marked where the covers would lie.

            Again the glue was applied, save where the spine would lie.  He meticulously settled the inner covers on the adhering fabric and used a heavy rod to make certain the covers would be smoothly set.  The edges were brought up to cover the leather on the inside of the book’s cover.  Sam was watching so avidly that only after he saw Frodo finish the covering for the original that he realized that the second cover was also finished, although Frodo had not touched it with his hands.

            Frodo set the pages in place on the back cover, and used the flat brush to cover the back of the front endpaper with glue, and then bringing the front cover over it, again using the rod to make it adhere evenly.  Once the front appeared to be setting up, he did the same with the back endpaper.  Again the copy followed what was happening with the original.

            The leather spine was left to affix, and it was done swiftly over the blue fabric.  The two volumes appeared to be complete—complete and identical.  All that was left to do was for Frodo to bring out the press he used to make his maker’s mark—a flattened form of a dragonfly that was pressed into silver ink and then into the lower right corner of the front cover.  Then he brought out a steel pen and wrote the title in Sindarin on the leather spine—The Tale of Rhysellë and Talorë, by Rhysellë the Orchardist of Tol Eressëa.  Identical writing appeared on the copy.

            It was done!

            “Ea!” whispered Rhysellë.

 *******

            Now that the work was finished Frodo’s Light of Being faded, and he stood pale and shivering behind the work table.  Sam hurried forward to support him and lead him to the chair Frodo usually sat in, wrapping the light blanket that sat upon it about Frodo’s shoulders.  Once Frodo would have been upset for Sam to do this, but he no longer felt the pride that forbade him to appear weak before others.  He accepted the support with a smile of thanks, and indicated he would appreciate a drink.  Rhysellë removed the brushes and scissors, tidying away the leftover lengths of fabric and leather, covering the pots of glue, ink, and the blocks of color, slipping the rolls of string off the spindles and putting them away, replacing the needles in their needle-case, leaving the table mostly cleared and clean.  Only the two volumes sat prominently on its surface.

            Which do you wish to keep for yourself? Frodo asked.

            “The copy,” she answered, and he nodded his head toward it to indicate she should now take it.  She smiled and took it into her hands, carefully opening it to show her own portrait.  In it she carried a woven tray of fruit—peaches, apples, pomegranates, and cherries, displaying the produce of her trees.  She stood in front of her orchard, a dragonfly hovering over a bunch of cherries that overhung the tray.

            The words on the other page were clearly written as if with her own hand, as they described how she had been born in the Mortal Lands to an ellon of the Noldri and an elleth of the Sindar who had chosen to bind herself to him.  They had dwelt under Celebrimbor’s protection until the coming of Annatar, the so-called Lord of Gifts, at which time her mother had become frightened and insisted that their daughter be sent to the protection of Elrond Peredhil.  In the end several children from the city were chosen to go to Elrond, and surrounded by hunters as guards set out for Elrond’s lands.  They were attacked along the way by yrch from the Hithglaer, perhaps set to watch by Annatar himself, and most of their guards and three of the children were slain.  Those who survived were filled with terror, and in time it was decided that they would be sent to Círdan so that they might be forwarded to Tol Eressëa for healing, once it was known that Celebrimbor’s city and inhabitants had been destroyed by Sauron’s forces, Celebrimbor himself in such a cruel, tortuous manner.

            Talorë had been one of those who dwelt in Lothlórien, one of the artisans who helped create pleasure craft for its denizens.  When the call came to march on Mordor for the War of the Last Alliance, he had chosen to follow the army, even though he had never been a warrior at heart.  That he survived the war was a shock to him, and he had chosen to set sail to Elvenhome rather than to return to the Golden Wood.  Among the first to befriend him on his arrival in the Immortal Lands was an elleth whom he thought to be of exceptional beauty, and in time he and Rhysellë were wed and settled in the orchard she had inherited from the one who had preceded her as orchardist when that elleth chose to enter Aman proper.  Both preferred to remain on the Lonely Isle, and had seen their two sons move on, and their late-born daughters remain on the island.